


Handsew Everything with Kind Intention.

by writing_blockhead



Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Househusband, And he does stuff for them that makes them happy and/or laugh, Caretaker Mark, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, He's assigned to cater kids and teens only tho, Househusband Jack, Jack is just concerned for his mess of an amazing husband, M/M, Minor Injuries, Mostly tame some are favors and some are some stupid shit Mark thought of and will do, Sewing, That makes Jack concerned, i also love making medical shit without research and making it inaccurate af, lmao i sure do love Mark in medical stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-20
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:41:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8564467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writing_blockhead/pseuds/writing_blockhead
Summary: Shaky hands ever tremble as they try to stay still and fluid, just wanting the damned needle to pierce soft fluffy brown cloth and stuffing and seal the open wound that never hurt nor bled.With his tongue sticking out from the corner of his mouth, he carefully raised the needle and letting it hit its target.It failed.And the holder of said hands yelped in surprise, disgruntled.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Lunch Drop](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548642) by [TheDeadAreWalking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDeadAreWalking/pseuds/TheDeadAreWalking). 



> i need to continue my pending fics omgggg,,,,
> 
> hello! i give you, yet another, fluff fic! bc lmao i cAN'T FUCKING DO ANGST FOR SHIT AND MY HANDS ARE MADE OF SUGAR THAT CREATES MORE SUGAR—
> 
> anyways, ilusym TheDeadAreWalking for creating Househusband Jack bc my man, that shit is my aesthetics and kryptonite (apparently also Medical Field Mark). my god, you don't wanna know how much i ADORE housewives and househusbands. (btw Nancy Elsner is best housewife fite me)
> 
> lolololol time for Gay™ and Fluff™

There's an orchestra at the kitchen today, and the performer is the conductor himself. There's a drumline of shoes, tapping a beat in the intervals of four, then a quick eight. A symphony of hums assists the drums, then followed by a little whistle solo part. The percussions are little clinks, clacks and scraps of ceramic against cermanic against glass against steel against a sponge covered in liquid soap. All while the speakers are turned up in a moderate volume, playing a little song on shuffle. He doesn't know the song, although a tad familiar, nor is interested in the genre it has but it was catchy enough to not let it pass.

However, 

"Ah, fuck **ing shIT—!** "

The conductor was rudely interrupted by a yell from what it seems to be his shared bedroom. A rather obscene one. A rather distressed one.

It raised many alarms to the now concerned conductor. The orchestra immediately stopped, the conductor turned off the faucet and went to rush towards the room, no consideration with his wet and soapy hands.

~~Okay, maybe considerate enough to at least grab a towel to dry his hands off along the way.~~

"Mark! What happened," Jack yelled, wondering what happened to him this time. "You alright?"

When he came to the room, he saw Mark, crouched into a ball and holding on to something in his chest. There's also a stuffed toy of a box with big blue eyes, a smile and two stubby limbs, all comical looking. The toy had a seam, stuffing leaking out of the torn gap, and a...

"Mark, dear, is that a thread on the toy?"

His husband looked up, eyes a little watery (presumably in pain) and face as red as his dyed hair. He slowly nodded, then hissed at the air exposing his wound, cursing afterwards.

"Care to explain?"

"I don't have a choice, either way," Mark replied, embarrassment and regret etched on his features. He breathed in, and huffed out one giant reply.

"I was trying to calm a poor kid who accidentally fell on his therapy session and who also tore his favorite stuffed toy in the process. He couldn't stop crying, not because of him falling down; his 'friend'" Emphasized with air quotation marks. "'Got broken like him'!" More air quotation marks. " He even showed me his stump leg, for fuck's sake! I felt so bad and I had to do something, so I said, no, reassured, no, I promised that I'd fix it up! He literally stopped crying when I said that and he smiled and hugged me-well, my leg."

With a skeptical look and a raised brow, Jack said, "So you decided to sew a seam when you aren't experienced in sewing?"

"...Yes?"

Jack just shook his head, chuckling and kneeled down to the ground, picking up the toy and the thread, pulling it towards him to find the needle. He looked at his husband in the eye and declared to him with affection and care colored on his voice, "You're a fucking riot, Mark."

"Shut up! I studied deep medical shit and caretaking, not Home Economics for Amazing Husbands 101! Which you're pretty amazing at, actually..."

With a hot steaming cup of sarcasm, Jack mocked Mark's so called "misery", "Sure, and **I got myself hurt with a fucking needle**." But afterwards, he paused, licking his lips and grabbing the damage that Mark had done, which is his left hand.

A bead of red is growing in husband's pointer finger, an obvious sign that it's still bleeding. Not only that, thin long lines of scratches are present on his hand and arm. Of course, Jack, with disbelief, asked Mark, "Jesus fuck, love! What did you do?!"

An "Uhhh..." came out from the mouth of the other man, shoulders slowly shrugging upwards and he hunched in his crouching position. Yep, these are signs that the explanation he'll provide is unbelievable, even to his own eyes.

Pitch rising in his voice, he quickly replied, "After accidentally stabbing myself, I may or may not have also accidentally scratched myself with the needle?"

Silence plagued over the room, Mark having a sheepish look on his face and Jack sporting a poker face, tight lips opening to say something but quickly shutting it. It doesn't matter if I'm going to ask further questions, Jack thought.

He just sighed and smiled at Mark, earning him a meek smile on his face as well.

"What am I gonna do with you, dear?"

"Well, you still would love me and shower me with affection?"

"Yo know what? You're absolutely right."

* * *

After a rather quiet fix up with scratches and a rather deep puncture, Mark was now in the living room and Jack was back in washing the dishes. Mark would opt to help, but Jack strongly urged him to "sit his ass down because lemon and cleaning materials aren't good for open wounds and scratches and it'll prevent further whiny baby-like complaints."

He didn't question his husband further because he knew he had the ability to reign hell to this realm. Angel on the streets, demon in the sheets, Mark would say. Best of both worlds.

" _These kinda sting,_ " Mark thought, gently touching the streaks of red and mustard yellow of disinfectant on his limbs. " _But Jack made them better! He always does._ "

He heard the faucet turn off and the clinks of plates stop and footsteps towards his direction. " _Huh, Jack_ _must be done,_ " Mark thought, still caressing his wounds and not looking up. He felt the couch sink, shift and lift for a little bit and sinking down again. Mark looked up to see his husband sewing the seam of the stuff box toy, hands fluid and careful, face blank with concentration.

The man, in awe, watched. Watched the seam become less than torn, the stitching and sewing of needle, cutting and pulling of brown thread. It was silent between the couple, but a comfortable one. Just peace and observations.

The red-haired man began to fiddle again with his scratches, soothing possible/actual itches with simple light touches instead of nails dragging on to skin (Jack will kill him if he does that). As he does what is hands are mindlessly doing, he let's his thoughts wonder on his husband's expression; the one where he's relaxed and poker faced. It looked oddly nice, even it doesn't show anything. There's just something about it shows a sense of care and kindness.

" _Maybe it's the eyes,_ " Mark pondered, nodding a tiny bit in approval. " _The blueness makes him look brighter and kinder. If he's frustrated, it looks like from 'This is What You Came For' album cover; a navy glum sky with lightning bolts as an angry shimmer. It reminds me of the ocean. I'm scared shitless when it comes to that, but when I look into his eyes, I feel like that's the only kind of ocean I'm not afraid o—_ "

Mark's reverie about his husband was then cut short when he got a lap full of a sudden weight and a face full of soft brown cloth. He realized that said weight on his lap was his husband, straddling him down, making him sputter and stutter over his utters. "Tada! Here," Jack exclaimed, one hand holding the now fixed stuffed toy, the other shaking around and making jazz hand(s). He smiled, gave it to his husband and said, "I fixed it all up! That wasn't so bad, was it?"

Mark could only give a weak nod as a reply, face red as if he was a teenager who just had their first kiss. This had been totally unexpected and Mark wasn't sure to be majorly happy or majorly embarassed.

Probably both.

His hands simply took the toy and he adverted his gaze from his husband to inspect the sewn seam. Not only a hole was closed, Jack even decorated it for a bit with a little heart at the side. He knew that embroidery took a while, but he was impressed. Mark gaped, praising Jack, "Wow. This is such a clean stitch. And a little heart! How long did you take to do this? And how long was I in my thoughts?"

Jack just giggled and winked, and then rested his head on Mark's shoulder. He hugged Mark's waist and began to softly kiss where ever his lips could reach: jawline, neck, unexposed collar bones. The other man just chuckled, setting the toy on his side and letting his hands wrap to Jack.

"This is nice."

"Yep."

"You're nice."

"Ditto."

Mark chuckled, making low rumbles that Jack could feel on his chest, making his heart contract and clench. He wondered even after 4 years of a relationship and 2 years of marriage, Jack would still feel warm and fuzzy all over when being affectionate and lovey-dovey with his husband. Love is a weird and wonderful thing, Jack mused.

Out of his instincts, Jack's hand began to snake to Mark's scratched arm, pulling it out of his hold. Jack then pulled out of Mark's shoulder, causing confusion to the man, and began to shift his position where he faces Mark's arm.

Mark, confused, asked his green-haired husband, "Jack, what are doing?" He was then replied with a kiss on the knuckles, and then each of his fingers. Jack then travelled lower to his palm, the front of his hand-with mandated Disney Prince kiss and charms-to his wrist, and then to his scratches. Naturally, Mark became a kettle; face boiling up to its limit, a little noise was coming out his out like its whistle and radiating warmth from his cheeks.

Jack stopped kissing, and looked up to his flustered husband, eyes twinkling rapidly like broken Christmas lights, cheeks equally red as his and a warm smile etched on his face. He then pecked him on the lips, whispering in a voice full of love.

"You haven't been stitched better yet, so I had to compromise."

Jack had officially broke his limit. As a result, he grabbed the sides of his face, firm but not tight, and began to kiss Jack deeply. The Irishman was surprised, but he quickly returned the favor with a kiss of his own.

Mark pulled away and began to pepper kisses on Jack, causing the other man to giggle and squeal in delight. "Maaark! That's both sweet and ticklish! Noooo, stop! Please," He exclaimed and begged, trying to cover his face with his hands, only to be stopped by Mark. "Nope," Mark objected and continued his onslaught of kisses. "You deserve aaaall the love and care for being the sweetest and cutest husband ever!"

This continued for several minutes, several minutes of kissing, tickle fights and words of affection and care, until both parties are spent, heaving heavy breaths and resting on top of each other, hands entertwining and skin touching. Both were silent, but they don't care; they're too tired to move a muscle.

Eventually, the two husbands fell asleep with smiles on their faces. Before they lost all train of coherent thought, they both thought one thing before shutting their eyes and resting,

" _You hemmed my life with lovely memories and reveries._ "

* * *

"Viktor, I'm back!"

A bright-eyed boy looked up from his storybook, face lighting up to the ever anticipated caretaker he liked.

"Mark! You're back!"

He set his book aside, took his crutches from the side of his bed and walked towards Mark with stride, the caretaker's brown eyes widening at his improved state. "Look at you," He said, notioning to Viktor. "You walked better now, and no falls! Congratulations, Vi!"

The boy beamed, smiling back to him and saying, "Thank you, Mark!" With that, Mark coyly smiled, lips drawing into a sly smile. He asked, "I think someone deserves a little something after this good improvement! Hmmm, but what could he possibly get as a reward?"

Viktor simply titled his head, confused on what Mark meant. Mark noticed this, and made an exaggerated gasp of shock. "You forgot?! Oh dear," He exclaimed, one hand on his mouth and the other behind his back. "You forgot your little buddy that needed fixing? Well, guess what?"

He pulled the hand behind his back, and he saw Viktor's eye grow wide like dinner plates, heard him gasp in surprise, and felt him feel happy and relieved.

"You fixed Tiny Box Tim," He remarked, smiling so wide that it may break his face. "Thank you so much, Mark!"

The kid buried his face on Mark's leg, hugging and cuddling it. Mark smiled and patted Viktor's head, giving Tiny Box Tim (" _So that's his name, huh? Kinda close to my guess, I suppose!_ ") to the kid under him.

Viktor took it from his hand and hugged it tight, burying his face on to it. "He looks better! And he smells like cookies," Viktor commented, euphoric that his friend was in a better state like him. He asked Mark with a beaming curiosity, "How did you fix him?"

"Well," Mark said, then carried the kid towards his bed. "It's like a little story, actually. I can't fix Tiny Box Tim at first because I don't know how to wield the Silver Sword and the String of Fate, tied together," He explained, showing his scratched arm as evidence. Viktor audibly gasped in genuine concern, and asked, "Are you okay?! I thought you could handle the Sword..."

Mark nodded, and then said, "Like I said before, I'm better with the Lance than the Sword. But," He paused, racking up his mind to add more elements in his tale. He thought of another hero who could be an angel to those who deserve it and a demon in combat...

He found it.

"There was someone who is better at handling the Sword and the String than me."

Viktor gasped again, eyes bulging out of his sockets. "No way," He gaped, getting more and more invested in Mark's adventure. "Who is he or she?! What is he or her like?!"

Mark simply chuckled, and then began to talk, "His name was Sean. He is what would we describe as a 'Sastre.' He can fix things up, even with wounds, with the Silver Sword and the String of Fate. He can also hurt people with the Sword. When he saw me hurt in battle, he took the Sword and began to fight against the abomination."

"I have never seen someone so terrifying but so gentle. He has to concentrate well, you see. You can't distract Sean when he's busy fighting or fixing. I thought I was troubling him, but he said to me that he'd like to fight for a total stranger. We became close after that. And well, he fixed Tim for you."

"Woooooow," Viktor whispered in awe, amazed at the person who saved his little stuffed toy. "I wanna meet Sean. Can you bring over some time? Can you, can you?!"

Mark paused, thinking about the thought of bring that 'Sastre' over to Viktor. " _He might like the kid,_ " Mark thought, choosing his decisions carefully. " _He did pester me on what was Viktor like, after all._ "

He hammered his final verdict, and said to the kid beside him, "Maybe I can bring Sean over. Maybe."

Viktor whooped in delight and began to hug Mark tight, overjoyed at the events happening right now. Mark reciprocated with a big hug of his own to the kid, patting and stroking his head.

"Can you tell me another thing about Sean," The little boy asked, looking up to his caretaker with intent and a pleading gaze. Mark replied with a sure, and began to think about his husband.

His husband whose name doesn't seems to correlate to his nickname, the Sean-John-Jack thing.

His husband whose any kind of green hair dye suits him.

His husband who never seems to be black and white, but just a different array of colors.

His husband whose eyes are something that twinkles all day and night, bright or dark.

His husband who is equally goofy, hilarious and sweet as he is.

His husband who shares his interests, from video games, shows, anime and skme cartoons.

His husband who he always sees pretty things around him.

His husband whose hands...

"His hands can handsew everything with kind intention. Whether it'd be clothes, toys, wounds or hearts, he can always make them feel better and fresh."

"Did he do that to Tim?"

"Yep, buddy."

"How about you?"

The question that Mark expected from the boy has finally come. And his answer is blatant but always welcome to the two.

"He always makes me feel like that, Viktor. And I love him for that."

**Author's Note:**

> *jamming out to the title* _Liquid sound waves pour from my eyes, my heart cries out for you in desperation. **7AM IS WHEN THE STATION PLAYS ITS SOUNDS—**_
> 
> lmao i just came from a CSAT test and i hate it so i made a drunken analogy that probs only a few people get at all:
> 
> CSAT = a test high school students will take  
> CSAT = sounds like Sisa  
> Sisa = had gone mad over time because of loss (Crispin and Bascillo)  
> Therefore;  
> Students = will go mad over time because of loss (our Crispin and Bascillo is the grado)
> 
> lmao i just want to enter HUMMS what more do you want my mental stability??? my long patience??? my wife and my children???


End file.
